The shock of the memory goes through me—the sun illuminating those stupid painted faces in the dead of winter. I’d forgotten about that.
“Sunny faces. But then you ruined happy baby animals for me,” she says. “Aleksio—I feel like I’m spinning.”
“I’ve got you.” I hold her tighter. It’s bad what I’m doing—I might as well be fucking her now, because I’m violating her emotionally, yanking out her memories. “And the Chris-Craft? That big old boat. Remember?”
“Picnics in the Chris-Craft,” she mumbles.
“What did the engine sound like? Do you remember?”
She’s gone quiet. I shake her. “Tell me, Mira. The Chris-Craft.”
“Gargly. Gargles.” She lowers her voice, sounding drunk. “Burgh-burgh-burgh.”
“That’s pretty good.” I fucking loved that big, powerful Chris-Craft engine. I loved those baby animal paintings too.
Until the end.
Until Konstantin held me inside that little cubby with his cigar-scented vise-grip of a hand clapped over my mouth to keep me from screaming, holding me tight as Nikolla slaughtered my parents while my baby brothers screamed. I saw it all in the window reflection. The fast way Nikolla moved against my parents, who’d been made sluggish with drugs. Darting for my mom. A dog going for a throat.
The baby animals are where I kept my gaze in the hour after the screams died out.
It was in the wine, Konstantin told me later. Konstantin had been drugged, too. An unarmed hit man past his prime, veteran of the Kosovo war, too drugged up to fight a killer like Nikolla and a twenty-year-old Lazarus. Konstantin did the only thing he could—he grabbed me and hid me in a child-sized cubby Nikolla wouldn’t know about, a nook in the wall, an accident of architecture made functional for kids.
Looking back, I sometimes marvel that Konstantin was able to keep hold of me for so many hours with the way I squirmed. I wanted to get to them. My mom and dad were right out there. They’d taken my brothers away in a sack, but Mom and Dad were right there. Motionless. I couldn’t see them any longer in the window reflection, but I knew they were there.
It was the dead of night when we finally stole out of there. The first day of my new life of being shaped into a machine of pure revenge and violence.
She begins to sob, silently now.
“Shhh,” I say, stroking her hair. “It’s okay, baby. You’re okay now.”
I never cried for my own parents much. Old Konstantin would hit me when I did. It wasn’t malicious, really, he just wanted me to channel all of that emotion into training and revenge. He was doing the best he could.
When I’m sure she’s sleeping, I untangle myself from her and get off the bed, disgusted by myself.
Fucking happy baby animals. Fuck them.
I text Konstantin to send over pictures of Lazarus’s people, then I get myself a vodka in the kitchen. Viktor and I have been rubbing off on each other in the past year since we hooked back up. Or more like corrupting each other.
So it’s vodka for me now.
He’s at the table with Currie. “You get the intel?”
“Yup. Konstantin is sending pictures.” I slam it back. “I’m glad I blew up that fucking house. I hated that house.”
“We leave in ten minutes,” he says. “Tito drops you. Currie stays with Mira. I’m out there circulating with my team. The minute you get a lead, you send word and we’re on it. Okay?”
“You see what she did?” I tip my head toward the lawn.
“Yeah, I saw what she did, brat.”
“Fuck. With that gun?” I limp over to the table.
“For fuck’s sake, Aleksio,” Currie says. “You need X-rays.”
“Just wrap it up.”
“You need real attention. Don’t blow it off—you’re screwed for life if it doesn’t heal right.”
I start pulling off my sock. The thing is so swollen, it looks like something from outer space. “All I need is for you to get it stabilized.”
“You really want to let your ankle heal wrong?” Currie demands. “Is that what you want? Because keeping yourself messed up is a bullshit way to atone for Kiro.”
I push him against the wall. “Are you suddenly a psychoanalyst? Because here all this time I thought you were a fucking EMT who has a Mustang and a second house instead of being six feet under.” Which is where he’d be without our help on his gambling bills.
He’s looking at me scared. I’m dimly aware of Viktor trying to talk me down.
“Answer! Are you our EMT or what?”
“I’m your EMT.”
“Then don’t you be fucking psychoanalyzing me. Or else I’ll rip off your face. Will I need to atone for that?”
“Chill the fuck out,” Viktor says, pulling me off.
“And Kiro’s alive!” I tell him. Then I get in Viktor’s face, put him against the wall instead.
“Save the anger,” Viktor says.
I sit. “Wrap it enough to get me through, then I’ll think about the X-ray.” Currie starts on the wrap, being his professional, diligent self.
“Sorry,” I say.
“I get it,” he says. “I understand.”
The guys come with the finger and the blood. It’s from an older woman, and it’s frozen. It doesn’t look right until Currie puts it in the microwave with a bowl of water to hydrate it. I make a mental note never to use that microwave again. We’ll sell the house eventually.
I watch the clock while Viktor and his guys seal the finger in a plastic baggie with some blood they got from who knows where. They nestle it in an eyeglass case with the ring on top.
Konstantin comes through with instructions for Viktor’s men. They’re to go into the restaurant ahead of me and take pictures, and he’ll vet the patrons himself. I get on the phone with him and thank him. He’s not happy about any of this.
“We’re gonna bring Kiro home safe, and then we’ll take what’s ours in a tornado of fucking bullets—you watch.” I’m channeling Mira’s optimism now, not that she’d approve. “The brothers together will take the whole thing back.”
Five minutes until we leave. We’ll hit Aldo and his men at the heart of their kingdom. Exactly what Konstantin didn’t want us to do until we were all three together.
Maybe I should’ve listened.
I act confident, but this thing is going downhill fast.
I wince as Currie wraps my taped ankle with a soft, stretchy bandage. Viktor’s texting, marshaling the troops.
Konstantin’s health isn’t so good, but he’s set up in a posh assisted-living apartment with a part-time nurse to help him out. I’m talking very posh, out in the western suburbs.
Don’t let anyone tell you crime doesn’t pay.
I have this messed-up idea of us all together at Christmas, the three of us and Konstantin. To give Konstantin a Christmas with all of us there.
* * *
Ten on a Sunday night, and Agronika is pretty packed.
It’s a dark place, and not for any lack of lights—there are plenty of them around, but they glow instead of actually lighting the place up. Same with the candles on the white-cloth-covered tables. More glowing. Lots of dark wood paneling. Classic Albanian mob. Like an old ship.
I stroll past the soft-talking diners and steaming plates of roasted lamb and stuffed peppers, air rich with the aroma of warm bread with an edge of pickled cabbage.
I straighten my cuffs and move through, smooth and strong like my ankle isn’t crunching in on itself. I feel enemy eyes on me.
It’s laid out in an L with the front being mostly public, but once you turn the corner, you’re in Aldo Nikolla territory.
Walking in here goes against every survival instinct I have. All those years of running from these faces. The target on my back feels like it’s lit in neon.
Viktor’s guys are at the elbow of the L. They’ve been in contact with Konstantin, letting him see the place through the eyes of their iPhones. So far none of Lazarus’s guys have shown
. I don’t make eye contact as I go past; I just tip my head in acknowledgement.
The buzz in the air fades as soon as his soldiers see. I can feel the fucking hands reaching under the tables, guns coming out of holsters. Fingers on triggers.
The temperature seems to drop ten degrees.
Going in there is suicide, Tito said.
I’m completely vulnerable. Not even a vest, not that it would help. These guys shoot for the head.
I walk on in, heart thundering.
All these men know about the million bucks on my head. It’ll just take one guy who doesn’t know I have Mira under wraps to go for it. One guy who doesn’t know I have that leverage.
Something inside me twists when I see Aldo at a rounded booth in the corner with a few of his minor guys. My fingers stretch and curl with the deep need to tear him apart, muscle from tendon, tendon from bone, sinew by sinew.
That need is so much at the surface right now, it scares me a little bit.
I can still hear the way my mom screamed just before he killed her. My dad made no sound—he was fighting Nikolla and Lazarus to the end, but my mom screamed until Aldo cut off her scream with a hunting blade, turned it into a guttural sound I’ll never forget. And then that thump on the floor. And then the sound of Nikolla puking. My brothers’ cries getting faint as they were taken off.
My skin feels clammy. It’s these soldiers around me. I can feel their fear and loathing. I get that tickle on my back that tells me I’m being sighted.
I shove the feeling back and smile when he catches sight of me. The old man looks stunned. Yeah, it really is insane that I’m walking in here, strides long and lazy. I reach down and adjust my cock, taunting him.
He rises up out of that booth like somebody yanked a string on the top of his head.
I sneer, like I have nothing to fear.
Nikolla grabs me and pushes me to a wooden post between booths. I allow it, laughing. The laugh is for him, but a little bit for Viktor’s guys, who are keeping watch. “What’re you gonna do, old man?” I say.
His eyes bulge a little, the way old man eyes sometimes do. His cheeks are red, and his breath smells like scotch.
“Got something for you,” I say. “It’s from Mira.”
“You didn’t—”
“You want it or not?”
He’s trying to hide the dread, but it’s not so easy because he doesn’t know what I’m made of. He’s wondering right about now how bad a motherfucker I am. Would Aleksio Dragusha chop up his little girl? Worse?
A lot of guys say shit like that, but they don’t follow through. And their stock goes down because of it. You need to follow through on your threats in this business. It’s a matter of loyalty, dignity, the honor of your word.
“Well, do you want it?”
He studies my face.
I smile. I want him to hurt so bad it makes me crazy. It’s a minor miracle my hands aren’t around his throat.
A few of his guys have closed around us, waiting for his orders. It’s unnerving, being alone, surrounded by so many guys itching to kill me, face-to-face with Nikolla.
“Little privacy,” I say, cool as I can manage it.
He nods, and the guys ease off.
He lets go of my shirt and backs off, motioning me to a booth off to the side. I go, and he follows. We sit across from each other in the booth.
I reach in my jacket pocket, pull out the eyeglass case, and slide it across the table. “Hint,” I say. “It’s not eyeglasses.”
He creaks open the lid. The ring is on top, the finger in a baggie wrapped in a cloth underneath. He takes out the ring and studies it. I wait, curious what he’ll do with the finger, how he’ll hide his blood aversion. He tips the case toward himself, rustling the cloth, pretending to look at it, just like Mira said he would. Then he snaps it shut, clearly shaken. The ring sold it like Mira said it would.
He holds the ring in the tips of two fat fingers. “I won’t kill you fast,” he manages. “I will hunt you. I will find you. I will kill you slow.”
“Yeah, well, until then you need to be thinking how bad you don’t want another gift like this.”
He studies my eyes.
I sit back. “Service is slow here.”
“What do you want?”
“I’d take a vodka,” I say. “Up.”
It’s not what he meant, but I could use a drink. He motions over a waiter and orders.
“Let me talk to her.”
“She’s sleeping,” I say. “It’s been a busy day.”
Silence. “You did it.”
“Now you need to give us everything on Kiro. If you love your daughter, you want me to get to him first.”
He waits a bit. Then, “Fine.”
I’m instantly suspicious. It’s too easy.
“Ligne has a drinking buddy, Archie Vega,” Nikolla continues. “He offloads some of his work to Vega, but he doesn’t want me to know. He confides in Vega. And Vega is the type…let’s just say he likes to know things. He collects secrets and blackmails people. I’ve been thinking about taking him out. I don’t know that he knows, but I could see him getting it in his pocket. I’ve always thought if I needed to find your brother, it would be Archie Vega who could point me.”
“Address.”
He takes out his phone.
“Easy. Show me.”
He looks it up and lets me read it. Archie Vega. Contact info. I pocket his phone and text Viktor the details. Viktor will be on him in ten minutes.
The waitress brings raki for him, and a vodka for me.
“You couldn’t have told me that in the first place? What’s wrong with you?”
The old man sips his drink. All the old generation, they drink raki—a licorice-y cross between grappa and ouzo.
“I’ll sit here for a while and make sure you don’t warn Vega.” I down the rest of my drink, then I turn the glass around and around on the table.
Something feels wrong. This is all going too easy.
Chapter Thirteen
Viktor
Here is a secret about the orphanage that nobody will ever tell you: When you’re in one, you always hope that you were not wanted. An accidental pregnancy.
Because the alternative is that you are a product of violence, torture, horror. That you are ugly and hated from birth. That’s what you always believe, though.
When the families pass you over, you think they see your ugly heart. It’s worse when they take you home only to return you. Moving into the Bratva, I became an overachiever in violence. It was a way to get at least somebody to want me.
Now with that talent I help my brothers.
We find Archie Vega is alone in his house, on his Exercycle watching the eleven o’clock news. The TV and the Exercycle keep him from hearing us, and when he sees us, it keeps him from running. He nearly falls off it, trying to get away. I pull him off.
Yuri and Mischa hold him at gunpoint while I ask about Kiro. He tells us he knows nothing. I see in his eyes that this is a lie.
“You want to tell us,” I say simply.
He shakes his head. Ta quift bota nanen.
Tito translates: “May the world fuck your mother.”
“Okay then.” We tie him to a weightlifting bench. It’s metal. Good and strong. “I will fuck you up then.” I cut his clothes off him. He needs to feel vulnerable. I need the information fast. To get Aleksio out of that restaurant.
The day Aleksio arrived changed my world. A blood brother.
I belonged. I wanted to drop to my knees and weep there in the garage when Aleksio told me I had a family that actually wanted me. He was so angry with me for what I did to Mira. I didn’t think he’d be so angry. It fucked me up, as Aleksio would say. But I will earn back his love.
I wish I could have walked in there with him. Of course it would be madness for us both to go in there. If it gets bloody, the other must remain for Kiro. Still, I hate it. If Aleksio dies, I want to be by his side, dying with him. It w
ould be a privilege to die with Aleksio.
I press the knife to Vega’s belly. I feel the clock ticking, but I smile and laugh. You never let them know you’re in a hurry. It gives them power.
Easy things first. What he ate for dinner. Make him visualize the inside of his belly, and what I will do. Pirogi, he tells me. With white fefferoni. I send Mischa to check his dinner dishes.
Now he begins to freak. Why is this so important? Why do we want to check his dinner dishes? I wait, as though bored. Scaring a man is in the crazy fucking details.
Mischa comes back and confirms it all—in Russian—and I smile. “Okay, then.”
Just like that he calls his maid. An old woman with a head scarf. She was hiding. She leads Mischa to a box of paper files. She says Lazarus got jpeg images of these files. These are the originals.
I find the file about Kiro. A Worland file, like the ones we stole, except nothing is blacked out. An address.
I text Aleksio. I have the address. But so does Lazarus.
Yuri drives like hell back while I go through the box. There are other files, too. Lots of secrets here.
Chapter Fourteen
Aleksio
Aldo Nikolla has finished his raki, and a new one arrives without him having to ask for it. He lowers his head, voice gravelly. “You want to kill me so bad it hurts,” he says. “You could, you know. You have everything I have on Kiro. You might get out alive. I’m guessing you have guys in here, right?” he looks around and then back at me with curiosity. “Why don’t you go ahead and try it?”
Because I promised Mira. Not like I’ll say that. I turn my tumbler of vodka on the napkin. Something feels off.
“Is it Lazarus? You don’t want Lazarus in charge?” He picks up his newly arrived raki, cloudy liquid in a slim glass. “A lot of men are scared of Lazarus running the show. But you’re not scared, are you? You don’t scare. Konstantin would’ve beat that right out of you.”
“Say his name again and I’ll take one of your fingers.”
Mafia Romance Page 49
